First Impressions
by NevaehF
Summary: In 1700's Boston, Zoro is a wandering Pirate Hunter, Sanji is a sympathetic, yet fearsome, cook. Zoro is on the hunt for the notorious pirate William Fly, during his search, he bumps into Sanji. Mild violence and fluff follows. Rated: 13 (its pretty clean) warning: yaoi, boy on boy, sanji x zoro


_P.S. I am aware that This FanFic is written to celebrate Roronoa Zoro's birthday, November 11th. It was supposed to be a short little drabble, but due to my annoyingly dragged out style of writing, it has become quite long. Anyway, it is set in early 1700s Boston, MA. I chose this setting because I wanted to have real pirates, to make Sanji and Zoro characters in the world of actual genuine pirates. And I chose Boston because that is the city I know best. Also, the pirate William Fly is actually a real pirate, who was captain of The Elizabeth, and was hanged in Boston. So ya, I did some research! Ha! Well, I hope you all enjoy my work, I hope it's not boring. __**Ship: Zoro x Sanji. Rating: 13+ (it's pretty clean) Disclaimer: Boy on Boy, don't like it, don't read it, don't hate on it. **__**Credit: I do not own any characters named or alluded to, the following is a work of fiction, all characters and events are purely works of the imagination. All rights go to their respective owners. **_

_not all the vocabulary and props I mention are really from the 1700s era (i.e. cigarettes, and business suits) but hey, use your imaginations people! _

_Shout out to my amazing friend, who encouraged me to write this in the first place, and who without, I would be completely lost. Literally. I have the sense of direction of Zoro. I can't even find my way to my own classes. Thank you so much __**Letharnbjorg**__! I love ya!_

First Impressions

Zoro dragged his feet through the shit and grime of a roadside ditch. After walking in the street and being nearly run down by 12 horses and carts in less than an hour, Zoro had decided to sacrifice his comfortable black boots to the sewage of the Boston streets, rather than risk his life. He could smell the salty air of the ocean nearby. This was his destination, Boston Harbor, where the Captain of the Elizabeth, William Fly, was rumored to be docking in the next few days. Fly was supposed to be a gruesome man, whom undoubtedly fit the criteria of Zoro's victims.

The city welcomed Zoro with dirty stares and harsh murmurs. They recognized him, either by his poster or the detailed description of him which had spread by word. The few who didn't know his name were the few who believed themselves better than he. Zoro made sure they learned very quickly though.

A young woman with a very small child wrapped in a dirty cloth stood on the side of the street opposite Zoro. She was staring up and down the road, waiting for a safe chance to cross. When it seemed that the carts and horses had subsided for a moment, she stepped out. At the same second, a group of three riders came thundering around the corner behind her, and nearly knocked the baby from her arms. She dove back to safety, spared by Lady Luck. Zoro glared at the passing horsemen and stepped into the road to cross over to the woman, but behind her, someone had already come to her rescue.

Out of a small pub on her side of the street, came a tall, lanky, blond man. Half his face was concealed by a curtain of sunny strands. A long cigarette was pinched between his thin lips, the blue of his eye contrasted nicely with his pale complexion. He wore a well-tailored suit, and his shoes were shined clean. Everything about him said, wealthy business man. Except that he wore an old, once white, apron around his waist, and his one visible brow was twisted in the most peculiar manner.

The man bent down into the mud and rested his hand gently on the woman's shoulder. He gave no attention to his shiny shoes sinking in the slime. The woman flinched away from him, but he whispered something to her that Zoro could not hear, and she turned to him with an appreciative smile. The blond helped up the woman, and used his apron to wipe a smudge of dirt from the baby's cheek. He then hooked his arm around the woman's waist and pulled her close. She looked a bit skeptical, but she complied nevertheless. The man timed the passing carts, and then took off across the street, practically sweeping the woman off the ground. They stopped in the middle of the road, and waited again for an opening, they finished their mad dash across the lane right beside Zoro, who realized suddenly that he had been staring at the whole transaction like a lunatic at the moon.

Now he could hear the voice of the mystery man, it was smooth, despite the cigarette. He spoke like a gentleman, like someone who genuinely cared, but there was lust in his blue grey eyes. The woman quickly thanked the blond man, and hurried off with her baby. He sighed and watched her go, he seemed disappointed. Zoro watched the man run his hand through his hair, scratch at his scruffy chin, and take a deep breath from his dwindling cigarette. Now the blond man turned and caught sight of Zoro, he gave him a quick once over, then with a smirk, he pinched his cigarette between his fingers and pulled it from his lips.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare ya moss head?" He nodded at Zoro's blatantly green hair. "Hey, you're the famous Pirate hunter aren't you?"

Zoro wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to be angry at the man for calling him 'moss head' or answer his question. He decided to let the name calling slide, just once.

"Yeah, I'm the pirate hunter." Zoro held his head a bit higher when he said it; it was not a title he had given himself, only adopted from the public. But there was a certain power behind it. There are hundreds of pirates, and hundreds of police, and hundreds of bounty hunters, but only one pirate hunter. "You gonna arrest me?" He asked because he knew here was a good bounty on his own head, a bounty placed there by the police, because murder is murder no matter who you're killing, even a pirate.

The blond looked him over again, like he had maybe looked too fast the first time. Making his new judgment, he held out a slender, skilled, hand. "Nah, I won't arrest you, I'll buy you drink though, I'm Sanji." Zoro took his hand, and he wanted to hold onto it longer, it was smooth and strong, but the tips of his fingers held a collection of small scars. They were hands that did work, but not strenuous work, delicate work rather.

"I'm Roronoa Zoro. I'll take you up on that drink, but you might regret it." Zoro smiled smugly and released Sanji's hand.

Sanji too was fascinated and a bit disappointed when the trade of palms was finished. Zoro had strong, hard hands. Tanned and callused from hard, repetitive, work. Zoro's skin was much more sun kissed than his own, from hours in the daylight, hours in the dirt, and hours in salty ocean water, scrubbing blood from between fingers.

Sanji cleared his throat to pull his mind away from imagining all the things those hands had done. He nodded at Zoro, and stepped into the street, with Zoro at his feet.

When they had safely crossed the road, which had proven more difficult than Sanji had imagined, for it seemed Zoro had the sense of direction of a rock in a sack, Sanji led them into the little pub, The Baratie.

Zoro's first impression of the pub was shock, the customers were surprisingly well behaved. They sat at their benches and chairs, they spoke loudly and swore, but they didn't argue or spill their drinks. They ate with forks and knives, they had napkins in their laps, they were dirty men and women of all backgrounds, but they seemed to get along just fine. Zoro had been in small Pubs before; they were always dirty, loud, and dangerous. By comparison, this tiny joint was like an exclusive private restaurant. He wondered what was so different about this one little corner of Boston. As if to answer his thoughts, a ugly man at a table of three stood up suddenly in front of Sanji, he was different from the other customers who seemed content with the service, rather, this man was very drunk, angry, and loud.

"Hey! Your shitty service is-" his words trailed off and his eyes drifted up in a drunken tilt. In his thick, grubby hand, he held a half empty pint of some dark liquor. The mug hung from the very tips of his fingers, and then as his eyes came back down to meet Sanji's, the glass slid from his grip, and shattered onto the floor. A wave of sharp inhales swept across the room. Zoro held his breath, it was only a little broken glass and spilled alcohol, why was everyone suddenly so nervous?

Sanji, looked completely unamused, he stared down at the dark puddle on the floor between he and drunken man, who was staring stupidly at his shoes. Sanji was disgusted, the wasted liquid seeped into the floorboards, into the substructure of the building, into the dirt, the earth, the carcass of whatever poor creature was likely underneath them. It could never be used again for any useful means. It was gone, forever, wasted. Food had been wasted. Waste. Waste. Waste.

If Zoro had blinked he would have missed it. Sanji swung one foot high above his head, and with the most horrible crumbling sound, brought it back down like an ax on the drunken man's skull. The man was silent, his eyes closed, his chest still. Zoro looked at Sanji, his expression was mostly hid from his curtain of golden hair, but could see his jaw was locked in a frown, and his teeth were grinding. The man on the floor made a sputtering noise of life, the two others that had sat with him stood to lift him. Sanji stepped away from the nearly dead body and let them take him. But he put a gentle hand on one of the men's shoulders and whispered into his ear.

"You best leave a nice tip so I can replace my mug and Ale." Sanji's voice was a hiss of fury, no longer the warm, smooth tone he'd had earlier. The man nodded furiously, and threw a hand full of coins on the table, then he and his partner lifted their friend and dragged him from the building.

Sanji bent to sweep the glass into his hands. Zoro saw in his mind, the beautiful clean hands transformed into dirty, sliced, fists. He quickly slid past Sanji and bent before him. He took Sanji's hands in his own and pushed them away from the dirty glass.

"I'll get it." He said. "Your hands will get cut." With his heavier, more rugged hands, he swept the mess in one quick motion, no blood spilt. Sanji stood slowly, and cracked a smile.

"Well thanks, that's awfully nice of you."

"It's nothin." Zoro hid a blush of pink on his cheeks.

When the mess had been cleared, and the pub returned to its prior atmosphere, Sanji led Zoro up to the bar, he took a seat, and Sanji slid behind the counter and washed his hands. The swordsman understood now, why everyone was suddenly on edge when the Ale had dropped. Most of the customers present were probably regulars, they were familiar with the way things were run. Sanji hated waste, especially the waste of food, and most of all, food that he had prepared himself. Seeing his liquor wasted on the floor had set him off. Sanji turned to face the counter and began refilling the glasses of the other men sitting beside Zoro.

"So what can I get for you? It's on the house." Sanji asked over his shoulder. Zoro inspected the wall of liquor behind Sanji, the bottles of various sizes, shapes, and colors. He didn't know the names of most of the drinks, so he settled for a classic.

"Just a pint of Rum to start I guess." He muttered, trying to seem casual and bored, but Sanji could see the remains of pink streaked on his cheek bones. Sanji turned and gracefully pulled a long bottle from the top of the shelves. He pulled the cork, and filled a glass, wiping the foam from the sides and sliding it down the counter to Zoro's waiting hand.

Zoro inhaled four pints before he even showed a sign of slowing. After the third glass, the place had gone nearly desolate, and by the sixth, Zoro's eyes were sliding shut. Sanji, cleaned the dishes as Zoro finished off his eighth, and passed out on the counter. He chuckled to himself, but didn't disturb the sleeping swordsman.

Sanji absently stared at the back wall, particularly at the long line of Wanted Posters. One of which, was his own. Fortunately, the horrendous caricature on the sign didn't even remotely resemble Sanji, and he was able to run his business safely. A few posters down from his, was Zoro's. Sanji had heard the rumors. A terrifying demon, a man with the killing skills of a god, pure evil, that was what they said about him. He wondered how much was true.

He inspected Zoro, taking the opportunity of him being completely unconscious. He had wide shoulders and thick biceps. The kind of arms you would expect from a swordsman. He had three tapered, golden, teardrops hanging from his ear, and a scar permanently sealed one eye shut. Inside Zoro's baggy white tunic, Sanji could see a deep scar that spanned the whole length of Zoro's finely toned torso. He wondered how he had gained such wounds. Sanji had been in his fair share of fights, and he had won enough of them to still be alive, but he had never obtained any such markings. Either Zoro was a lousy fighter, or he had been in so many battles that it had been unavoidable.

Now Sanji's attention was brought to the three long swords that Zoro had rested on the table beside him. They were unlike anything Sanji had seen before. Thin and delicate, he wondered what the blades looked like. The sheaths were decorated in simple yet beautiful patterns, they were scuffed and worn, but obviously they had been kept for many years. They looked too weak to kill, like they would shatter on impact. Why three? No man could fight with three swords, maybe two if he was talented, but three? Perhaps he kept two of them as spares for when one of them broke. No, he had heard somewhere that Zoro knew a way to fight with three swords. He wondered how. The swords were not American made; they were from somewhere far away. Sanji wanted to pull them from their sheaths and inspect the metal, but he feared waking Zoro.

A light knock at the back door startled Sanji. He spun and saw through the window, a small group of men with a lantern crowding at the back entrance. Quickly, he put down the glass that he had been drying for far too long, and ran silently across the room to the front entrance. He boarded the door, and then ran the perimeter of the room, blowing out each of the candles, except the one that was closest to Zoro. He went below the counter and retrieved an old blanket that he kept as a spare. Again, a knock at the door. He threw the blanket over Zoro's shoulders and took one last ponderous look at him. He was...beautiful, in the flickering yellow light of a shrinking candle.

Sanji slid behind the wall of liquors and spirits, to the thin door that he kept locked. Fumbling in the dark with his key, he finally heard a click and the door swayed open. He locked it behind him.

On the opposite side of the door was a small dark storage room. It was empty, except a few small crates, and a short round table in the center. Sanji hurried around the table, nearly tripping over its legs. When he reached the door, he opened the peep hole and squinted into the night.

A short, rough looking man, with a tight, thick, brown beard and a little scar directly between his eyes, stood in the shadows. A large golden hoop hung from one stretched earlobe, and his nose was very crooked. He was a pirate, Sanji knew, his wanted poster was tacked to the wall of the pub, next to some young, uprising pirate with a ridiculous name, Monkey D. Luffy. This was the pirate known as William Fly, captain of The Elizabeth. Sanji whispered through the peep hole.

"What's the word?" He said. Fly gave a shiver of surprise at hearing Sanji's voice, then he glanced over his shoulder and whispered back.

"Coq au vin." _(Chicken in red wine sauce) _Sanji internally laughed at his own password, no one could pronounce it correctly, except himself of course. He closed the peep hole and unlocked the door for Fly and his three associates. They crowded in and huddled around the table, muttering quietly to each other.

This was Sanji's night job. As a self-enforced rule, Sanji could never turn away a hungry customer, even in the unfortunate event of them not having access to money. The one thing he couldn't stand more than wastefulness was hunger. He didn't advertise, but word had traveled quickly after Sanji had opened shop.

'There be a man in town who won't turn ya way, even if ya got not a penny, he'll give ya meal, and a good 'un too. He won't charge ya, an he'll even let ya take some home for ya youngins. But watch how ya treat im, he's a real bugger for manners n such, he'll knock ya dead if ya disrespect im. And God bless yur soul if ya try n steal from im. He's called Black Leg Sanji, on the corner by the harbor. He's a tough man, an he only takes visits at night from the back. Tell im the word, an he'll let cha in. He's killed pirates tho, so watch yur self.'

Those were the rumors Sanji heard about himself. He heard them in the alleys, he heard them by the docks, soon, every person near him, and every person coming into the bay knew where they could find a meal, if they were desperate. Sanji was proud though, he loved making the lives of the less fortunate a bit brighter with his cooking. He loved to provide a good meal for someone who had never tasted such, or who had forgotten the taste long ago. People cried when they tasted his food, they cried for joy. Just one night at The Baratie, and they felt saved. It was illegal, what he was doing, especially when it involved pirates. Assisting criminals was a crime punishable by death, which was really the only reason Sanji had a wanted poster at all.

William Fly and his crew were nervous; they shifted uneasily from foot to foot. That was normal, not all the rumors about Sanji were good ones. They glanced back and forth to each other, trying to pick who would talk first. This too, was normal. What wasn't, was the way Fly drummed his knobby fingers impatiently against the pocket of his trousers. Impatient was not a quality Sanji's customers ever displayed. This worried him.

"So, Captain Fly, what assistance can I offer you?" Sanji asked, he used proper grammar and an educated tone, to make it clear that he was above these suspicious men.

"Well," he started, "we was caught in a nasty storm a few clicks from 'ere, an we lost all ar supplies in the ocean." He stopped to check Sanji's expression. "We was hopin thet you cud help us out, I got fifty starvin men on me ship, an I ain't about to let em die after all we been through." He finished his sorry tale, and Sanji leaned over the table to look at him close. Their eyes met, and Sanji held his gaze tight. Fly turned his head just slightly, like he was trying to pull away, but Sanji's eyes, as vast as the overcast skies of the sea, were inescapable. The blond looked at him deep, and counted the things he didn't trust about this man.

He was too eager to leave, or perhaps attack. There was something his fingers itched at in his pocket, a short knife, or maybe a small gun. His story was a lie, Sanji knew the smell of a lie, and this man reeked. There were white bands around the bases of his fingers, where rings had obviously been, he had plenty of money. Above all, he had the remains of some nasty yellow substance fresh on his teeth. He had eaten recently. Sanji did not trust this man, and he would not serve him.

The cook leaned back from the table and released Fly from his trap.

"Alright then, I can make enough fried rice for sixty, and have it delivered to your ship by morning." He said smoothly, as he pulled a new cigarette from his pocket, and lit it with the candle on the wall behind him. Captain Fly smirked, believing himself victorious, and nodded. This was clearly some message to his mates, all at once, they turned on Sanji.

The one closest to him whipped a six inch blade from his boot, and aimed for Sanji's throat. The blond would have none of it though; he dodged the blow and sent his own attack. One kick to knock away the blade, and another to clip the man in the temple with his toe, rendering him unconscious. The other two men came to him at once, and they both carried brass knuckles, a weapon that Sanji could not easy strip of use. One of them swung high as the other swung low. Sanji ducked the high shot, but he could not avoid the sickeningly dense impact of the metal fist to his abdomen. He doubled over and sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back against the wall for support. They were coming again. This time both from above, aiming for the exposed top of Sanji's head. He knew that if he took this hit, he would lose. The cook dropped to floor, and struck out with his legs. He knocked the feet out from under one man, and he fell hard, but the other avoided the attack. Now Sanji was on the ground, at the mercy of the man towering above him. The pirate swung back his fist, and landed a brutal beating to the back of the blond head.

'Dear Lord, I promise to never disobey you again, I promise to always attend mass, and keep my hands off women. Just let me live through this.' It was all Sanji could think, as a second strike came violently down. He had never prayed in his life, but if there was ever a time to start, it was in that moment.

The pirate stepped back then, to make room for his Captain, who pulled a revolver out of his pocket. The muzzle of the gun was cold on his sweaty forehead. Fly's finger stoked the trigger anxiously. Something, deep in his head, brought Sanji's mind back to the way Zoro looked when he smiled drunkenly and called for another pint. A good image, Sanji thought, to end one's life on.

Awakened by the sound of a fight, Zoro was searching the liquor wall. He was sure, positively sure, the sounds were coming from behind it. But he couldn't tell how to get there. The sounds stopped, and all was silent, for just a moment. Then came the muffled sound of an unfamiliar voice.

"Black Leg Sanji," it said. "You are not as frightening a man as the rumors say." Zoro knew, how he was not sure, that those were the words you speak to a man whom you are about to steal the life from. A frenzy of panic shook his bones, and without thinking, he lashed out.

What unfolded next, was undoubtedly the most flawless, alluring, and effective way any man, woman, or godly creature had ever broken down a wall. With two swords, Zoro slashed a great, clean cross, into the wine wall. Effectively halving the bottles and spilling forth the colored liquids they held. The action set off a chain of events, and the wall fell forward, the glasses tumbled from their shelves and shattered to the floor, flinging their contents into the air, like a colored mist, illuminated by the few dimly glowing candles flickering across the room. A spectacular light and water show, of assorted alcohols. Red and white and yellow, even a touch of gold and green. All mixed with the sparkling shards of stained glass, it was a scene of chaotic grandeur, that all settled over the silhouette of the one and only Pirate Hunter.

Across the room, Sanji witnessed the dramatic entrance, peaking around William Fly, who had him pinned to the wall at gunpoint. He questioned reality, were his eyes deceiving him,was he already dead, was that really Zoro, coming to save him?

Zoro sprinted across the room, stepping up onto the table and pulling free the third sword at his belt all in one fluid motion. The moment he landed back on the floor was the same moment that he threw the handle of the third sword into his mouth. His Mouth. Fly turned his gun on Zoro and hesitated. He recognized the swordsman. This was the mistake that took his life, in the split second that Fly took to identify Zoro's features, the hunter had already struck him dead. Only a flash of light being thrown three ways around the room, signaled that Zoro had even made a move. Fly slumped, shock still draining from his eyes, as his final breath escaped his filthy carcass. Zoro stood motionless, except for the heaving of his chest, which was not caused by exhaustion, but rather he had been holding his breath for fear of Sanji's life.

The cook, mesmerized by a soaking, sparking, Zoro, gazed up at his figure. The swordsman, finally relaxing at the realization that Sanji would live, bent to pick him up.

The wounds that Sanji had sustained in his battle were not fatal, but they bled heavily. Zoro carried him out of the room, back to the front of the Baratie, where there was more space to move. Sanji, with a limp arm, gestured to door beside the destroyed wine case. How Zoro had not noticed it prior, was a mystery. Now, he shuffled to the door, and elbowed it open, careful not to jostle his passenger. Behind the door was a narrow, steep staircase, which Zoro decided to tackle backwards. The stairs were worn from years of Sanji rushing up and down, the railing was smooth from wear.

At the top of the stairs was a small, personal room. A bed, with crumpled blue sheets, and a small cracked mirror on the wall. A wooden pole spanned the far side near the ceiling, and from it, hung suits, waist coats, tunics, trousers, jackets, and an assortment of ties in every color. An impressive collection. On a small table beneath the mirror, there was a comb and brush, a jar of hair grease, a face cloth, and pitcher of water. Zoro rested Sanji on the low bed, and rushed to get the cloth and pitcher. Sanji groaned as he settled into the mattress, relieved to be in his own bed, but embarrassed that Zoro was seeing him in this state.

Zoro returned and kneeled at the side of the bed. With utmost care, he unbuttoned Sanji, and loosened his tie. He pulled back the blood stained fabric and revealed a flawless, unscathed body, save the new blemish. Then he dipped the cloth in the pitcher and wrung it out.

Even though pain gnawed at Sanji's sides and head, he couldn't help admiring the way Zoro's muscles rippled when he wrung the towel. The blond shut his eyes and braced for the swordsman to clean his wounds. Zoro's hands were gentle though, he dabbed away the blood and whispered how sorry he was in Sanji's ear. With his free hand, he stroked Sanji's arm and the back of his hand. Never once did he take his hands away, until the job was finished, and even then, he delayed in removing himself.

Finally, Zoro gave a weak smile, and leaned back from the bed to leave Sanji to rest. Panic, sudden panic struck deep in the cook's gut, and he reached to catch Zoro's arm, but his fingers slipped just short. The effort did not go unnoticed, the hunter, seeing his own feelings reflected in Sanji, smiled thankfully, and rested back against the bed.

"Come here." Sanji breathed. And Zoro responded, he lifted himself onto the bed, carefully, as to not further injure the smaller man.

"I'm sorry." Zoro said again, stroking the smooth muscles of Sanji's stomach. Guilt, for letting Sanji come to harm, was all he felt. Sanji silenced him. He propped himself up and repositioned so that his head rested on Zoro's pectoral. Fair against tan, the two of them lay. Listening to heartbeats slowing, and breathing deepening. Neither spoke, and neither questioned their situation. Zoro kissed the top of Sanji's head, inhaling his scent. He buried his lips in the smooth gold of Sanji's hair, and a tear escaped him.

Sanji felt it on his scalp, he looked up at the green haired man, and kissed his chin, his collar, his throat. Zoro tightened his grip around Sanji's waist and closed his eyes. Sanji, moved closer to Zoro, feeling the skin of his chest, the scars, the muscles, the heat. He closed his eyes too, and took one final deep breath, before falling into deep, euphoric dreams.

_So that's it, sorry, Im sure you expected more. But unfortunately, I can't write smut, at least not yet. If anyone wants to write an alternate ending, in which Sanji and Zoro make beautiful steamy love, then I encourage you. Please notify me though, and give credit where it is due. Thanks so much for reading, hope I didn't disappoint you too much, and if anyone liked it, please review, I will read your reviews, I promise!_


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